


Jackpot

by WintersGoddess



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Caring Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester is a Good Bro, Gen, Hurt, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Dean Winchester, Insecure Lucifer, Like A Freaking Turtle Slow, Like A Turtle, Lonely Lucifer (Supernatural), Lucifer (Supernatural) is Called Luke, Major Character Injury, Married Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Maybe I'm not sure, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Parental Bobby Singer, Parental Ellen Harvelle, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Lucifer, Protective Lucifer (Supernatural), Slow Build, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-10-13 19:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20587907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersGoddess/pseuds/WintersGoddess
Summary: With a final creak, the car nose went down and he plummeted about 20 feet to the ground below.. He could only scream in agony as his leg was impaled further, as the roof of the car crunched under the force of the fall, his head cracked hard against the ceiling and the already enclosed space became as tight as a tomb.He was upside down, still buckled, there was blood dripping into his eyes from somewhere, probably his leg. There was a horrible pain in his back because he was bent at an odd angle. The seat had bent farther forward, pinning his chest against the steering wheel, he thought he could see a bone protruding from his right leg.Everything was oddly silent now, he couldn’t hear the rain, or the wind. There was no sound of thunder, no flashes of lightning. He thought he heard the faint sound of sirens but he was too sleepy to care. He felt like he couldn’t keep his eyes open."Sam... I'm sorry..."





	1. Yep, it's Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first sortie (please be gentle, it's my first time) into the Supernatural fandom. I usually only venture into Marvel territory but I have loved these boys since I watched that first episode all those years ago and sometimes an idea just hits me. I should point out that I don't have a set update time, I will update as soon as I get the next chapter ready. 
> 
> Also, the tags on here will change as I go.. I want the endgame here to be a Dean/Cas but because I suck at writing smut.. Well, I can't promise any awesome sexy scenes.. Idk, we'll just see where it goes..
> 
> Please, enjoy ❤️❤️

_ **Tuesday October 1st, 2018** _

_Heat of the moment, heat of the moment _

_Heat of the moment _

_Heat of the moment, heat of the moment _

**Smack!**

_Heat of the moment, heat of the moment_

**Smack! Smack!**

_Heat of the moment_

“Oh for God’s sake..” Dean mumbled, slithering his way across his comfy bed to make a grab for his phone, wishing that just this once he could burrow under the blankets and sleep the day away. He really should change his alarm tone, but for some weird reason that song reminded him of Sam _(one of the last pranks Sam had played had been to rigg everything Dean owned that could play music to repeat that damn song over and over again..) _and Dean didn’t have the heart to change it. That was back in better _(well, better than what came after)_ days, before they had their huge brawl and his baby brother told him to get out of the small apartment they shared. Then Sam walked away from him and didn’t look back.

_Heat of the moment_

“Oomph!” In his partial coma-tose state he heaved himself forward to silence the annoying _(ok, secretly he kinda liked it)_ croon of Asia and found himself sprawled halfway onto the floor with his poor back bent like a pretzel. He’d be feeling that the rest of the day. His legs were still tangled in the blankets on the bed and his face smashed into something soft and warm.

And wet…

Very wet.. And moving..

Oh, come on!.

_Heat of the moment_

“Uuuuunnn…” Dean groaned. “Come on Banner, it’s too early for your stinky dog kisses!” He pushed the lovable German Shepard away and slid the rest of his body to the floor. His two year old pup, always eager for playtime, leapt joyfully onto his back.

“Ow! Ow! Ok ok! Get off! I’m getting up. Jeez dog, ease up would ya. My body hurts too much to be used as a trampoline! Sit, sit! Stay. Good boy...” Dean sat up and gave him a good rub,

He had never really been much of a pet person, but Banner had come along at the suggestion of his therapist, Meg, a smart mouthed little devil of a woman who really didn't fit the norm for a psychologist. He'd started seeing her about three years ago at the urging of his Quarry boss, Luke, who invited him out for drinks only to have Dean get smashed and have a drunken breakdown of massive proportions. Luke _(who's real name was Lucifer, by the way)_ was a recovering drug addict who had been seeing her to treat his depression and to help stir him in the right direction _(away from the drugs he got hooked on in High School)_. 

After a few visits himself, Meg had diagnosed him with Persistent Depressive Disorder, and after some extreme psychotherapy suggested he get himself a furry companion to help combat his feeling of loneliness. His friend and coworker Benny happened to have some German Shepard puppies to give away and that's how he now found himself being pounced on by eighty pounds of pooch. 

“Hey buddy.. Time for a pee break, yeah?”

_ Heat of the moment _

**Smack**! Ugh, finally. Direct hit!

“Alright, come on. Outside!”

Dean zombied into his tiny kitchen flipping the coffee pot on as he passed. Coffee, coffee was priority, without coffee he was as useless as a gun without ammo. Every morning was the exact same routine, fight the alarm, start coffee, let pooch out, feed pooch, feed himself coffee and a shower then off to work. Every day, six days a week. 

Well seven if Mrs. Summers down the street needed any work done. Lately though, his elderly neighbor hadn’t had much for him to do. A few weeks ago he had been so exhausted that he fell asleep underneath her car while repairing a brake line. He nearly gave the old woman a heart attack when she came out calling for him and he didn’t move. She thought he’d been crushed to death. 

Her high pitched shrieks had finally roused him from his peaceful bliss, just as she was dialing 911. In his haste to get out from under the car he cracked his forehead on the undercarriage and got a minor concussion for his trouble. Mrs. S added to it by giving him a hearty slap to his bleeding head, then hugged him and gave him pie, grateful he wasn’t dead. 

Dean adored her, she was the first and really the only friend he made in the first six months he found himself in the little town of Jackpot, population 1,003.. He wasn’t really sure how he wound up here five years ago, maybe it was his low funds, a low gas light, Hell it could have been that episode of CSI he watched years ago.. 

Maybe he had just been tired of fleeing the past in his rear-view. 

But the first couple months after he’d rolled into town _ (the eight hundred dollars he had left when he fled Sioux Falls practically gone) _ he had lived out of the back of his dad’s _ (now his) _ Impala, desperate for some kind of employment. The fake credentials he'd cooked up not doing him any favors. Taking whore’s baths in gas stations and trying to stretch his last hundred dollars so he wouldn’t starve. 

A wing and a prayer didn’t get you very far..

It was at one of those gas stations where he met Mrs. S. He had been sitting on the rear of the Impala scrolling the job sites, worrying he’d never find anything and wouldn’t be able to keep footing the bill for his dad’s prolonged stay in the psychiatric hospital. He’d used all of his savings from his job at back in Sioux Falls to ensure John's stay for the first year, _(so much for Dean's retirement) _had a huge blowout with Sam and Bobby about it, after which he went on a three day bender which caused him to miss work for a week, thus resulting in his immediate case of unemployment.

Angry and embarrassed he had fled his home with his tail between his legs. 

Maybe he should just suck up his pride and go running back, _ (maybe Bobby would welcome him home, maybe he’d slam the door in his face) _ but anyway, he was sitting there when a huge, bright blue Escalade flopped onto the lot with a flatulating tire. 

The shortest woman Dean had ever seen _ (seriously, the woman barely came up to Dean’s waist) _ climbed _ (yes, she climbed) _ out of the driver's seat. She had a blinding white pixie cut and hot pink coke bottle glasses that nearly covered her entire face. Every finger was cloaked in gold costume jewelry that clashed horribly with her leopard yoga pants and black knee-high boots. She topped it off with a gold glittery wrap thing around her shoulders.

She stalked right up to him, gave him a long lascivious look and offered him five hundred bucks to fix her tire, even though the gas station he was parked at had a service center. Too excited at the thought of filling up his Baby and getting a decent meal that night he accepted. She ogled his ass the entire time and told him her life story in the span of an hour _ (it took that long to dig the spare out from her collection of feather boas and sequined jackets) _. 

Dean learned she owned a casino and three wedding chapels down in Vegas, she was four times a widow and moved up here after her last husband mysteriously disappeared somewhere near Area 51. She pulled over when she saw him because her psychic told her that very morning there was a handsome man in leather in her future that needed her.

And that yes, while he was handsome and he looked dashing in his leather jacket he was about thirty years _ (I have a granddaughter near your age) _ too young for her. 

She had no problem making comments on his _ (mmm mm mmmh, gorgeous) _ ass as she watched him work though. Mrs S handed him five crisp hundreds, then randomly offered him a place to stay in her old RV in her backyard, because the psychic told her to. When Dean mentioned something about being total strangers and he could be some kind of a psycho she laughed and said _ ‘The name’s Ivy, now we aren’t strangers, and sweetie if you fuck with me I live with Smith, Wesson and a rottweiller named Thor, I’m not worried, I’m from Vegas you know, was down there turning tricks before you were born’. _

That was how he found himself living in a 1970’s RV over on Lady Luck Drive, _ (with a disco ball and a high heel shaped chair) _ for his first year in Nevada. He’d snagged his first job as a stocker that same day _ (God _ was _ apparently on his side) _ at a Ridley’s Market three days a week about a half hour away in Twin Falls, Idaho.

Over the next few weeks he found three other jobs that fit perfectly around his stocker schedule. He found a job at a local garage in need of a new mechanic three days a week, and three days at a rock quarry in Rock Creek. Dean took another part time job as a motel desk clerk on the days he wasn’t at the market and earned enough to keep his dad in the nuthouse. By some miracle he made enough to put a nice down payment on a dilapidated old house just up the street from Mrs S. 

The shitty house had been on the market for years according to her, and with her cunning business sense she haggled with the realtor to get the price to a mere twenty grand. He had nearly half that for a down payment and thanks to a low finance rate _ (courtesy of his co-signer) _ and his working four jobs his home was nearly paid for. Every penny he could scrape together, well every one that didn’t go toward paying for dear old dad or his utility bills, went into fixing up his very own home. 

And fix it up he did.. Every Sunday, his only day off, was rehab day. All by himself, he pushed forward. The place was horrible, it looked like one of those houses in a horror movie. You know, the kind the crazy chainsaw murdering undead guy hides in. Dog shit brown with boarded windows, leaky roof, stained carpets, the creepy red stain on the kitchen floor.. Dead grass that made you think of a crack house. 

He bought a tiny mattress and slept on the floor for the better part of its rehab, concentrating on the exterior first. New roof, windows, happy yellow paint with blue trim, he even added an attached garage for his Baby. 

He worked the inside over one room at a time, the master suite first so he could have somewhere to lay his aching body at night. Slow but steady, he turned every room in the trash dump into something worthy of an HGTV show. It would never be a mansion, 3 beds and 2 baths all small as a bird nest but it was his home now, for better or worse. 

_ Sammy if you could see me now _, he thought.

But Sam probably wouldn’t care, if he did, Dean wouldn’t have been met with a ‘number no longer in service’ when he tried to call Sam up a few weeks after he left, he’d never tried calling Bobby. He was too hurt and ashamed at the way he left things with Bobby _(why would you try and help him Dean! After all the shit he put you boys through, Hell, put _ ** _me_ ** _ through! And now he goes and does something like this! He should go to jail Dean and you’re still taking up for him! If you do this, you can walk your ass right out that door boy, cause you’re dead to me..) _to reach out.

Dean had manned up his first night in the RV and tried reaching out to Sam, but was met with a disconnected number. It couldn’t be a coincidence, Sam had used the same number for years and then out of the blue, nothing. Sam must have been hella pissed at him. 

A few days after that failed attempt Dean’s own POS prepaid phone bit the dust, by the time he had money for a new phone with an actual monthly plan his old number was rendered obsolete. He supposed it didn’t matter, it’s not like anyone wanted him around anyway. 

“Here ya go Banner,” Dean opened the door to the backyard and Banner shot out like a rocket. He left the door open to let the cold air of a desert morning flow inside. It was always so cold here at night he never needed AC. Every night here felt like a Sioux Falls winter. 

He poured his coffee and went to sit on his tiny back porch, his mind full of thoughts of Sam. Thinking of him always made his heart ache. 

Dean had done everything he could for that kid, hell he practically raised him. Having a father who couldn’t hold down a job for more than a few months and had them treading all over the Midwest and even a few trips coast to coast was harsh. They lived out of cheap motel rooms or on one horrible occasion they had slept in the back of the Impala for the better part of six months, Sam stretched across the backseat, Dean twisted like a rope on the floor. 

After the unexpected death of his wife, Mary, in a house fire, John Winchester had gone a little crazy. He swore his wife had been killed by demons, even going so far as telling the police he saw her on fire on the ceiling the night she died. Naturally, his rantings made the Lawrence P.D. think John was involved in her death and they arrested him that night on suspicion of murder. Dean and Sam were shipped off to Sioux Falls, South Dakota to live with their Uncle Bobby, one of his mom’s close friends, until the situation could be sorted out.

After about a week the police found no evidence linking him to Mary’s death, so they had to let him go. John showed up at Bobby’s door at three in the morning demanding his children. He packed up a four year old Dean and a sixth month old Sam into his 67’ Impala, ignoring Bobby's pleas, and set out on an outrageous quest to snuff out every demon who had a hand in his wife's death. 

Of course they never found anything. The only thing John managed to find was the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Leaving Dean, still a baby himself, to care for his infant brother. By the time Dean turned five he was a pro at changing diapers and could make a three-course meal out of mac and cheese and some can veggies on a hot plate in a motel room.

Dean was the one who made sure Sam was clean and fed, even if Dean wasn’t. He taught Sam to read, to walk, to ride a bike. He made sure Sam always had new clothes while Dean made regular visits to the closest Salvation Army, grateful for anything he could find without holes. When he got his first job after graduating _ (Bobby laid down the law about education) _ he blew his entire paycheck on new jeans..

On more than a few trips John would chauffeur them back to Bobby’s and disappear for months at a time. No one had any idea where he ran off to but when he finally showed back up he kept telling them he was getting closer to finding the demon that killed their mom. Bobby tried valiantly to get custody of the boys, but in the 80’s it apparently took an act of God to get CPS to help.. 

The older they got, the longer John left them. Dean and Sam were able to attend high school in Sioux Falls until they graduated. Dean took some classes at the community college that made him a certified mechanic. He wanted to go farther and become certified in classic vehicle restoration and maybe get a degree in mechanical engineering but Sam, the little genius, had been accepted to Stanford so Dean put those dreams on hold so he could help Sam pay for his apartment and food when he went to Cali. 

Who would have thought the long haired hippie would become a friggin lawyer.. Dean couldn’t have been more proud. 

Dean moaned into his coffee. Four thirty was just too damn early, even though he’d had the same routine for about five years now his aging body wasn’t that spry anymore. Continuing to work two full time and two part time jobs six days a week at the age of forty, plus random jobs for his elderly neighbor on Sunday was taking its toll. 

Not to forget the online college courses he enrolled this past semester. In two years he would finally be certified in classic auto restoration, he hoped.. Luckily one of his jobs was manning the front desk at a motel three evenings a week, so Dean could use that time to finish all his lessons. He knew he was a bit old to try and fulfill his dream of college but well, better late than never, right?

But damn, he was tired. Maybe he should think about quitting one of his evening shift jobs. He barely had time to eat a decent meal as it was. Mrs S. had been pointing out a lot lately that he was looking a little peaked and needed to take better care of himself. He wasn’t hurting for money anymore, his day jobs paid near $20 an hour and his evening shifts weren’t shabby either, he was just paranoid about losing everything. But pulling 90 hours a week for four years was getting old. 

“Alright Banner, come on boy.” The shepherd was rolling gleefully in the grass, “Clock’s a tickin.” Today was Tuesday, and Tuesdays were always a never ending pile of shit for him. He had to drive up to Boise to pick up parts for the garage on Tuesdays, meaning he couldn’t drive Baby to work. 

Last year he splurged on a second car, he loved his Baby but the wear and tear he had been putting on her doing those supply runs for Crowley's garage was terrible. She wasn’t made for pulling a trailer stuffed with car engines, tires and cases of oil. The garage didn’t have a work use vehicle so he sucked up his pride and bought himself an SUV. He thought about getting a truck but well, he just wasn’t a truck person. And he could always sleep in an SUV if he needed, so.. 

He sighed, finishing off his coffee. Would he ever not be afraid of being basically homeless again? Mrs S told him he worried about the most useless things but his childhood and half of his adult life taught him different. That Impala was the only real home he had growing up, and again later after his life went to Hell.. It was a legitimate fear. 

Dean rubbed at his sore back, today was going to be bad, he just knew it. He wished he could take a break. Maybe after he finished college he would, take a road trip back home.. Go visit Chuck, go fishing with old Rufus, maybe swing down to Omaha and visit his dad…

Crawl back to Bobby and Sam and beg for forgiveness.. Maybe…

Maybe not, that ship had likely sailed out to sea been struck by lightning and sank to the depths in a fiery blaze.. But Dean couldn’t help it.. He missed them, Sam, Bobby, Jody.. He missed his family, so, so bad. Even if they didn’t miss him..

Yeah, ship definitely sailed..

He took his empty mug to the sink and fed his rowdy dog, dragging his feet in a small show of defiance. Maybe he should call out sick, let somebody else make that long trip to Boise today but that would just make him feel guilty. So he’d tough it out just like he did every week, go through his morning routine, drop off Banner at Mrs S. so he could frolic with her dog Thor, hop in his second hand Durango, clock in and spend his entire shift fighting with their parts supplier, Enrique, about how his Impala was way more badass than that shit 69’ Talladega the douche drove.

Yep, typical bad Tuesday, he thought as he headed for the shower. 

If only he could have known how bad this particular Tuesday would be. He would have called in and stayed in bed. He would have called Bobby and apologized for everything. He would have found a way to talk to Sam and tell him that he was sorry, that he made a mistake.

He would have done everything different, because this particular Tuesday wasn’t just bad..

It was Hell..

Literal flaming, metal twisting, glass shattering, crushing Hell...


	2. Bliss

Keep walking, keep walking..

Almost there...

_“Hey Smith! Where’s your shitty Chevy today?”_

Son of a bitch…

Freakin Enrique.. Crowley's parts supplier. Greedy weasel. Grade A smarmy douchebag.

Everything about him screamed ‘don’t trust me’. Even his name was misleading. For one, Enrique was a Spanish name but the greaseball standing before him was as Scottish as the Lucky Charms leprechaun. His skin was a shade of pale that rivaled Casper, with the hair of a fiery ginger that ran halfway down his back and a Scottish accent so thick it put Crowleys to shame.

Dean cast his eyes toward the Heavens. Every time, every freakin Tuesday… If Crowley wasn’t such a cheap ass and would fork over the dollars for a delivery fee Dean could avoid this particular level of Hell. He’d never been able to sneak off to eat his lunch in peace just once over the last few years. God knows he’d throw himself head first into traffic if he had to wait here while the parts and supplies were loaded. But once, come on, one time, couldn’t the guy ever skip a day of work like a normal human. He wasn’t asking for much, but every damn time he came here that douchebag Enrique had to press his buttons about his Baby.

“Now, you know the drill Rick!” Dean called out as he began his trek toward food and freedom. And peace. “Baby’s too beautiful to be caught haulin around your greasy crap parts. Now that Talladega of yours, that piece of crap is made for haulin shit around.”

_ “Screw you Smith!”_

“What? Just speaking the truth Rick. It hauls your dumbass around doesn’t it!” Dean shouted at him.

_ “You mother-”_

“How bout you bring it down to Crowley’s and we can scrap it for you! Put you in a real man’s car. How’d you like a nice Yugo? Oh, I know! How bout a Pacer, that seems like your speed!” Dean gave him the fakest grin he could manage.

_“Piss off Dean!”_

“I would if you’d shut up and get that shit loaded. I don’t wanna be here all damn day!”

Dean picked up the pace and quickly left the supply yard. Truthfully, he wasn’t in any hurry to get back. He had his 5 to 11 shift at Ridley’s this evening and they had him scheduled as a cashier, his least favorite position there. The manager, an evil demon of a man named Alastair, always made sure he was the last to leave on his check out days. He must have assumed that, since Dean lived alone and was single, that he also didn’t have a life. Dean always had to stay late, helping sweep and mop the floors after closing, take out all the store’s garbage and accompany Alastair to the bank for the night deposit. 

He hated it, he never made it home until well after midnight. By the time he showered and grabbed a quick bite he only managed to squeeze in around three hours of rest before his usual 4:30 wake up call. 

Lately there were more and more of those cashier shifts. More and more late nights with less sleep and more cups of coffee for breakfast instead of actual food. More dark circles, more pounds lost.. 

Meg had noticed it during his last few sessions, unfortunately, and wasn't happy with his recent turn of events. She saw it as a sign that his PDD could be advancing. She even suggested that he give up one of his many jobs, citing that _ (while she applauded his work ethic) _he needed some time for himself. Self care was essential to his mental and physical health. Good self-care was key to improving his mood and alleviating his depression. 

When he explained his reasons to her for working so much Meg realized she’d hit an emotional jackpot. It took three more sessions after her discovery before Dean began to see things in a different light. Dean was now seriously considering giving up either the market or his motel clerk job. He just couldn’t decide which he hated more. Meg had given him the task of making a pros/cons list but so far it was still blank, he hadn’t had time to worry over it. 

At the moment though, he only had one thing he was worrying about. He was freaking hungry. It was just shy of 11am and his empty stomach was making itself known. One of the things he enjoyed about his weekly trek was hitting up his favorite restaurant. Well, technically it was an alehouse, mostly they sold beer but since he was driving he couldn’t partake in that favorite pastime.

He stumbled on it mainly by accident, Enrique was being particularly bitchy one long ago Tuesday and Dean found himself with several hours of downtime waiting for him to load. To feign off boredom he wandered the streets of downtown Boise. He found an awesome record shop, The Record Exchange, that sold actual vinyl. He threw all caution into the wind and left there a few hundred dollars poorer and wandered a ways until he found GuruDonut, where he’d stuffed his face with _ (get this! She’s My Cherry Pie) _ sweet sugary goodness until his body couldn’t take the rush anymore. 

After hours of meandering he found Boise wasn’t all that bad for a city, even though he preferred the small town feel of Jackpot. He bought truffles at The Chocolat Bar, browsed the vintage prints at Ward Hooper and splurged on books _ (hey, he reads!) _ at Once and Future Books. 

But his pot of gold was the Bittercreek Alehouse, and the best burgers he’d had since leaving South Dakota. Every Tuesday while he waited for the boys to load up the trailer and trunk he walked the few blocks, sat down at the bar and spent an hour chatting with old Stan _ (the ninety year old bartender) _about everything from the weather to their mutual love of comics.

Today, unfortunately, Stan wasn’t around and there was some barely old enough to drink hipster panicking behind the bar. Dean wasn’t even going to try and have a convo with that kid, he’d already watched him spill three drinks and flipped some poor woman's plate onto her lap, so he was just going to sit and eat his huntsman burger in peace and try not to lose himself in many sad thoughts.

Wishful thinking on his part as he pulled out his phone and did the same thing he did every Tuesday. 

He cyberstalked his family…

Dean knew that he shouldn’t. That it would just bring back the loneliness, but this was his only way of making sure they were ok. His only way to make himself a part of their lives again. He had never been a tech savvy guy but for once he was grateful for his meager stalking skills.

And for Instagram...

At Lucifers prodding _(because the guy wanted more than his eight followers)_ he made himself an Instagram profile, being careful not to let anything about him show that would tip Sam off and piss him off even more. He kept it simple, pictures of Banner and things he found interesting, a random street sign in Boise, an oddly shaped tree near his backyard, one of Mrs. S dressed up in her Friday night best sequined ball gown and gargantuan diamond earrings.. His username was Jack_Pot_D, simple, random.. Never anything that might give away that he was one of Sam’s six thousand followers.

Who the hell even knew that many people.. Dean’s page had 43 people, and those were all people he worked with. But Sam always was a popular guy, it made sense that he had so many followers. 

By creeping on his page he knew Sam had made partner at the firm he was working at, there had been a picture of him and his boss, a skinny little guy named Gabe, at his promotion party. He knew that Sammy had been engaged about three years ago to a fashion model named Ruby, which had apparently fizzled out fast as a few months later he was engaged to a girl named Jess, a nurse Sam met running a 10k. 

There were pictures of Bobby frozen in fear as he finally married Ellen two years ago, Sam and Jo serving as the Maid of Honor and Best Man. Numerous ones of Sam running marathons, him with his coworkers, with Jess and her family, with Gabe and his stoically faced brother with a weird name, Casty something.. 

There was even one of Sam, Bobby, Jess and Ellen with John… Taken a few weeks ago at the facility Dean paid out the ass for.. That one.. Well that one had hurt. After everything Sam had said about their father and his refusal to help him why would he even bother to visit him, why now? Sam had captioned the photo, "Family reunion day. I saw my Dad for the first time in five years. Things are going well. Planning another visit in October Wish the rest of you were here". He had tagged Gabe and the Cas guy along with a few others, while Dean just felt sick. 

He had had a rare evening free and was a bit drunk and it was the only time Dean had ever commented on anything that wasn't Lucifer's, he wrote "Family has always been everything to me. I'm glad you have people who love you."

He had panicked and deleted it the next morning. Hopefully Sam hadn't read it. 

Dean didn’t go visit John, he never called him, never let him know anything about his life. In his eyes that was more than enough since everything that had ever went to shit in Dean’s life seemed to be because of John. 

Dean had tried to be a good son, even after everything. After John’s delusions had him breaking into a house in Nebraska because he was convinced the family inside were demons, after he tormented them for hours until one of the kids broke free and fled for help.. When the police showed up and arrested him and found his car stuffed with illegal weapons, when Sam refused to represent him in court, when the family's lawyer pushed for an attempted murder charge. Dean had still been there, trying his best to help his dad. 

In the end they had a choice, life in prison or a prolonged stay in a psychiatric facility in which John’s family would be forced to pay for, with the only possibility of release depending on six different state appointed doctors. Dean, still trying to keep what little family he had together had decided to put John in the psych facility. When he went to Sam and Bobby to ask for a little help in footing the bill, well, it didn’t go well, which was why he was currently sitting in an alehouse in Idaho scrolling Sam’s Instagram feed. 

Wishing he could have been there for all those things..

But, it is what it is..

He paid for his meal and wandered his way back to the shipping yard. The boys had finished faster than usual today probably because it had started to rain, and sweet old Enrique had taken a window marker and drawn a big fat dick on his back window. 

He dug out some hand wipes to erase most of the hot pink penis but he’d need to get a wash soon because he could still see the residue. Screw it, he just wanted to get back, he was feeling a bit unsettled after his lunch time stalk session. He’d hit the car wash before he went to Ridley’s tonight, if he was late and Alastair was pissed then he’d just freaking quit. 

As he pulled out of the lot the skies decided to open their floodgates, rain and hail pounded against the Dodge's roof as he moved through the afternoon traffic, the loud bangs fighting a war with the crash of the thunder. The wind started moaning around the Durango, with the driving rain and blinding beams of lightning visibility was so low he nearly missed the street that would take him to the on ramp to 84. 

The storm seemed like it was trying to swallow him as he made his way back south, as he passed through Regina he saw uprooted trees, when he neared Mountain Home there were roofs blowing off houses.. He should probably find a safe place to pull off until the worst of it passed but most of the other cars on the road were still trucking along like it was a bright sunny afternoon. 

It wasn’t until he came up near the tiny town of Bliss that things really went to Hell. The rain was the heaviest so far, the fastest speed of the wipers couldn't keep up with the torrent of water. Dean squinted, he could barely make out the road, which is probably why he didn’t see the semi he was cruising along beside at 55 decide to make a sudden lane change to get past the slow driver in front of him. 

Before Dean knew what was happening the truck, which was hauling logs, clipped the side of his Durango, sending him into a spin. The front end hit the guardrail to his left with enough force to deploy the airbags, the windshield shattered, his head slammed forward, only to be jerked back again as the car, still moving with incredible speed bounced off and back onto the highway. The trailer he was pulling was ripped free from the hitch, spiraling side over side, spilling tires and busted cases of oil across both southbound lanes of 84. 

The car continued it’s spin, the back now slamming into the rail before bouncing him off, right into the path of Ford truck, that, because of the white wall of rain, never even saw what was coming. It collided with the passenger side, sending his head bouncing off the cracked glass beside him. Dean must have blacked out for a moment from the force, when he opened his eyes he had finally came to a stop, not far from the exit to Bliss, on a tiny bridge. Unfortunately he had stopped right in the middle of the double lanes and he needed to get out and fast, before something else came through the mists and hit him. 

That, as it turned out, would be easier said than done. He tried his door, but the impact from the front had pinched the metal in a way that he couldn’t open it. The passenger side had suffered the same fate, he was going to have to try and break out the glass and climb out. But he couldn’t do that either, when he tried to pull himself up out of his seat he screamed in pain. The impact with the rail had pushed the nose of the car unnaturally inward and a piece of broken metal had pierced through his left leg. He was pinned…

And bleeding, heavily..

Before he could reach for his phone to call for help another truck, this time a large dump truck, came barreling out of the rain horn blaring. It swerved at the last second but still caught the right side of Dean’s car, pushing him over toward the railing on the small bridge. As his luck would have it, the car hit the rail at the perfect angle, with the truck guiding him along the left side of the car bounced up, the wheels up over the top of the rail. 

The truck was still attached to him, pushing him forward, the rest of his car soon followed and he found himself tilting forward toward the train tracks below.

“No.. _No, no, no, no, no…_” he screamed.

The Dodge teetered on the edge, like it was trying to make up it's mind whether it wanted to stay or give in and meet fate at the bottom of the waiting abyss..

"God.. Please, no.." Dean whispered, tasting blood on his lips.

A hurricane force wind decided to take the matter out of it's hands. It shuddered around the car, tilting slowly forward... With a final creak, the car nose dipped, the ground 20 feet below rushing to finally meet him.. He screamed in agony as his leg was impaled further, the metal pushing through to the seat beneath him, as the roof of the car crunched from the force of impact, his head cracked hard against the ceiling and the already enclosed space became as tight as a tomb. 

He was upside down, still buckled, there was blood dripping into his eyes from somewhere, probably his leg. There was a horrible pain in his back because he was bent at an odd angle. The seat had bent farther forward, pinning his chest against the steering wheel, he thought he could see a bone protruding from his right leg. 

Everything was oddly silent now, he couldn’t hear the rain, or the wind. There was no sound of thunder, no flashes of lightning. He thought he heard the faint sound of sirens but he was too sleepy to care. He felt like he couldn’t keep his eyes open. 

“Sam… Sammy…” Dean mumbled, “I’m sorry Sammy.. Sam, I'm sorry...”

There may have been a grinding sound on the outside of the car but before he could realize help had arrived darkness overtook him...


	3. Where Are They Now?

**Friday, October 4th 2018 **

_ **Saint Luke’s Meridian Medical Center, Boise, ID** _

Ivy Summers had lived a long, long audacious life. Growing up in Sin City it was hard not to be, by the age of eighteen she’d made herself easy money working her way up and down the Strip, by twenty she was making a killing dancing for millionaires in one of Vegas’s most prestigious clubs. That’s where she met millionaire husband number one, a Texas oil tycoon more than twice her age who keeled over with a heart attack two years into their marriage, leaving her with his vast fortune and an oil rig off the coast of Texas.

Hubby number two came a year later, he was a, well, she'd say a third rate magician who met his untimely demise in a freak accident involving the old sawed in half trick five years into their marriage. A settlement against the casino he performed in resulted in more millions for her and their one year old daughter Joyce. She invested that fortune in her own casino and the rest she put away for her daughter's future.

After husband number three's death, he was an avid hiker who took it one step to close at the edge of the Grand Canyon, she sought the advice of a psychic, a Henderson, Nevada woman named Missouri who advised her after hubby number fours _ (good Lord, there's going to be another one _ ) strange disappearance _ (don’t worry dear it’s not aliens, he just goes a little too close to somewhere he shouldn’t be) _ she should think about moving north, there she would hit the jackpot. Because of these vague details Missouri had given, Ivy thought she meant she'd be made a millionaire for a third time.

It wasn’t until she took a spontaneous road trip north that she stumbled upon the little hole in the wall town of Jackpot, Nevada then she realized what Missouri had meant. She fell in love with the vast emptiness and quiet that the town gave her, and her previous fortunes _ (or misfortune, depending on how one looked at it) _allowed her to buy an odd little house right on the spot. Years later, after being guided by Missouri yet again, she would meet a young man by the name of Dean Smith, whose presence in her life brought her a tiny circle of friends who turned into family as the young man made his home here. So yes, in the end she really did feel as though she hit the jackpot.

This morning however, she was at a loss of what to do. Her sweet boy, her friend, her honorary grandson was lying unconscious, broken and bleeding in a hospital bed, as he had been since Tuesday afternoon. A freak fall storm that blew in out of the blue, bringing with it complete chaos, had nearly cost him his life. 

She nearly had a heart attack when she had received the call. After a nerve racking journey up into Idaho _(damn that cheapskate owner of the auto shop Dean worked for, if he wasn’t so cheap to pay a delivery fee then her boy wouldn’t be lying here)_ she was met at the hospital by Dean’s boss, Luke. Apparently they were both listed as his emergency contacts. They had been taking turns staying at the hospital with him, Ivy took the early mornings while Luke went to work, while he would spend the evenings and late into the night at the hospital. 

Luke, the dear, had been sleeping in the CCU waiting area every night before driving the near two hour trip back south to work. He had been stopping off at Ivy's to feed and pick up her and Dean's dogs, taking them to work with him. After the workday was finished he took the dogs back and made the trip back north. The poor man was running himself ragged, he'd also been using every spare minute he could to try and track down Dean's family. So far, after a thorough search of Dean's house all he found was a defunct phone number for a person named Sam and some very old photos. Luke assumed this was the brother Sam that Dean often talked about, but he had tried every Sam Smith listed in Sioux Falls, SD but none of them had ever heard of Dean. He and Ivy were starting to suspect that Dean Smith may not be a Smith at all.

Ivy was reading through her ancient copy of Poe’s best works when Luke hobbled into the CCU just before noon, looking pale and carrying a small box.

She furrowed her brows, laying her book aside, "Luke, dear, is everything okay?"

Luke gave her a tired nod, “Yeah, I’m good. Just tired, I guess.” He pulled the extra chair over beside her, “Any change?” He asked, gesturing to Dean, nearly unrecognizable underneath all the tubes and wires.  
  
Ivy sighed, “No, he still has too much swelling for them to consider pulling him out. Oh, Luke, he may not even wake up from this. It’s a miracle he even survived, the doctor told me it took the responders over an hour to cut him out. And he lost so much blood.. And the head injury, his back… Have you had _ any _ luck finding family, I know he has some, he’s talked about them before.”   
  
“No, I must have called fifty Sam Smith’s in Sioux Falls and not one had heard of Dean. I tried calling the reference numbers he gave me when I hired him, but every one of those was a dead end. Honestly I never checked them when I brought him on, he seemed like a nice dude, kinda reminded me of myself a bit. Now I wish I had, cause I’ve got jack shit on the guy now. I even tried the Sheriff out there, to see if anyone may be looking for him, she didn’t know anything either.”

“We just have to keep trying, there has to be something we can do to find his family.”

Luke sighed, “Crowley called me at work this morning-”

Ivy scoffed, “Greasy little bastard..”

“I agree, Dean should have quit that asshole ages ago, he’s a dick, but anyway.. He called me this morning, wanted me to come by and pick up this.” He lifted the tiny box.

“What’s that?”

“Since Dean worked there, that’s where they hauled his car to.. Crowley called me and wanted me to drop by, he cleaned all of Dean’s stuff out of the car, it’s being held there til insurance comes to quote the damage. God if you could… It was horrible, there’s barely.. The entire top of that thing is _ gone, _the front tires are ripped off, it looks like a smashed soda can.. You can’t tell it was an SUV once.. I’m so glad he was driving that though, and not the Impala.. Ivy he’d have been dead if he had. I know Dean hates newer cars but that Dodge.. It saved his life..”

“Are we sure about that? You heard what they told us, his head slammed against the roof when it fell off that bridge, he could have brain damage if he wakes up..”

“When.” Luke corrected her, “_ When _ he wakes up!”

Ivy merely sighed, the stress of this week was wearing on her. “When he wakes.. What was in that box the little cocksucker gave you?”

“It’s always weird hearing a ninety year old little lady saying cocksucker… You remind me of Betty White in that lake gator movie!”

“You mean Lake Placid? If I had a dick this is where I’d tell you to suck it!”

“.....”

“What? I love that old hoe! Met her once when I was dancing, she was pretty naughty herself back in the day!”

“Oookay… Anywho, this is all Dean’s personal belongings Crowley pulled from the wreckage, including _ this _.” He whipped out a battered phone, “Crowley found it wedged inside the dash somehow, bitched about the little scratch he got trying to pry it out..”

“And how is a broken phone going to help us?”

“Not broke, still turns on. See.” He tapped the screen and a colorful swirl came to life.

“Still not getting the help part here Luke.”

He merely rolled his eyes, “It’s gonna help cause Dean has Instagram-”

“You ever get more than your ten followers?”

“Shut it you old crow! I’ll have you know I have fourteen now.” Luke stated proudly. Then he squinted, “How many you got?”

“4,367.”

"......"

"Your move Blondie." She blew him a kiss.

“Hmph.. Moving on, Dean has Instagram, and I remember one night when we hit the bar he was wasted and showing me his brothers. I tried looking through the people he follows but then I remembered him saying he couldn’t follow him because his brother would be pissed. I think they had some kind of a falling out-”

“So this brother may not even care that he’s in the hospital.”

“Doesn’t matter, we still need to tell him. Anyway, convos with Crowley, then Benny, turns out Dean may “stalk” said bro on his lunch breaks, apparently it makes him mope according to Benny, but, whatever, point is if he stalks said brother it will be in his search history, which hopefully I can use to help me find out who and where they are.” He smiled, obviously proud at himself for figuring it out.

“And?”

“And? And what, it’s freaking awesome! I found him! I’ve been searching for days, I’ve been through every corner in Dean’s house, this is like a miracle!”

“So? Who is it?”

Luke scrunched his nose, “Who’s what?

_ “Oh for fuck sake! The brother! Who is it!?” _

“How the hell would I know!? I haven’t looked yet! The phone was dead, it’s been charging all the way here!”

Ivy facepalmed, “Then _ why _ did you say you found them!? Luke honey, I love and adore you as much as I do Dean, I think of you two as my own, but those drugs you did in your younger years may have made you slightly stupid..”   
  
“ _ Rude _ !! And please, you whored yourself out in Vegas at 18 _ and _told me about your coke days old lady!”

“Yes, but the difference is you kept going til you killed half your brain cells and I tried it twice and became a millionaire.”

Luke looked like a three year old ready to throw a tantrum, “Suck it Betty..”

“You’re too young for me love. You can't handle my mouth baby.” She smiled, “Now, don’t dally, let’s find our boy's family. Hopefully they aren’t total douchebags.”

Luke cringed as he opened the app on Dean’s phone, “Well, Dean’s been here for years, never leaves, never has visitors and he secretly stalks his bro on social media, so… Possibly douches.”

“Joy..”

There was only one person in Dean’s search history, an unbelievably tall man with shaggy hair.   
  
“Hmmm..” he mumbled.

“What? Did you find something?”

“I uh, think so. It’s a Sam, not a Smith though. This guy's name is Winchester, from his pics he lives in Sioux Falls. Pretty girlfriend, looks like he’s a marathon runner, bout eight feet tall..”

Ivy pulled out her own phone, searching. “Got something, Sam Winchester, Sioux Falls, this says he’s a lawyer.”

“Great, is there a number? I can call him and see if this is the right guy.”

“Uum, yeah he works for… Novak & Winchester Attorneys at Law.”

Luke froze. Novak.. Son of a bitch, it couldn’t be.. Could it? Twenty plus years of hiding, of making himself invisible so he didn’t have to face the pain of losing them all.. All because he had made a horrible mistake. 

“What’s uh..? What was the other guy's name? His partner?”

Ivy glanced up, “I don’t see how that’s useful but it’s a Gabriel Novak. Are you feeling ok, you look green sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah I just.. What’s the number, I’ll give him a call.” He went back scrolling through Sam's pictures as Ivy recited the number, feeling ill. God he was going to be sick. It couldn’t be real, it just couldn’t, but there, halfway down the page he saw it. Sam, standing tall in the middle, on one side, barely changed after twenty years and as short as always was Gabriel. 

“Gabe..” He whispered.

“What was that sweetie?”

“Nothing, just talking to myself..”  
  
On the other side, so tall now, all grown up, no longer the scrawny twelve year old he had last seen, was Castiel.. He’d recognize those baby blues and that everlasting bed head anywhere.

Cassie..

Oh God.. He couldn’t do this, they shouldn’t be there, last he knew they were still in Illinois. What were they doing in South Dakota? There was no way he could call that office, what if Gabriel somehow answered the phone. He’d have to find another way, try the sheriff again, Mills, maybe see if she could get the message to Sam.

That would have to work, because he couldn’t handle it, there was one thing on this earth that he wasn’t strong enough for, and seeing his brothers again after twenty years was it..


End file.
